


In Bloom

by spellingbee



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: (i don't think there's a ton of angst?? but it's there), (kind of but not exactly), Alternate Universe, Angst, Blanket Permission, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Party Poison, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Podfic Welcome, seriously they are so stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellingbee/pseuds/spellingbee
Summary: Party Poison left Battery City years ago, and they wouldn't trade the flowers of emotions blooming across their skin for anything.Of course, if those flowers would stop telling everyone they encounter about their intense crush on Jet Star, things might be a little easier.





	1. Acacia

**Author's Note:**

> On the fifth week of the writing challenge thing, my true love gave to me........actual fanfiction!!  
> Yeah so here's some JetPoison I started. I don't pay a lot of attention to canon so characterizations/setting will be off!
> 
> Ages of the characters are as follows:  
> Party Poison - 18  
> Kobra Kid - 17  
> Fun Ghoul - 16  
> Jet Star - 20

Love is illegal.

Technically, all emotions are illegal, but experiencing or at all acknowledging love is like, probably the most illegal thing you can do (besides stealing from BL/ind--that might actually be more illegal, but Party’s not entirely sure. Anyway, whichever was the Most Illegal Thing, Party’s done enough of both to _more_ than warrant the number of people on their trail).

Emotions are hard to hide in Battery City. Everything is pure white, sterile. The colors of emotions, everything from joy to rage to sorrow, stand out far too easily to ever be hidden. When a rose or a tulip blooms from your skin, it’s difficult to hide it anyway, but when you consider the vibrant colors, standing out in sharp contrast against the world around you, it’s impossible.

BL/ind doesn’t want anyone to see the flowers. They don’t want anyone to experience emotions in the first place. They want mindless servitude, not the sort of individuality that comes when people can think and experience things for themselves.

So, BL/ind simply removes the emotions from everyone.

Well, there’s really nothing simple about the process of emotion removal. It starts from birth, with a blend of chemicals put into the formula given to babies. Party doesn’t know what those chemicals are--had never bothered to learn--they only know that they’re bad, that they make children- _-babies_ \--docile in a way they should never be.

When children are older and allowed to roam the streets of Battery City outside of their designated homes, they’re given earphones, which are to be worn at all times. These earphones are connected to BL/ind-operated radio towers, which broadcast a series of BL/ind-regulated programs and musicians. When these are worn, you can hear nothing but what BL/ind wants you to hear. You can’t hear the noise of the streets, the vehicles that go by, the voice of the person you’re walking beside. Everything is drowned out by the specialized broadcasts of BL/ind.

Once children reach puberty, their emotions become much harder to contain. The earphones are no longer enough to keep them docile, for the emotions within them are far too volatile, closer to the surface than ever before. These children are given supplements--”medicine”--pills which keep their emotions tamped down.

For most, it works. They’re kept slow and obedient against their will, shaped into becoming Battery City’s finest slaves as they grow into adulthood.

For others, the pills simply don’t work. Party doesn’t know all of it, because really, they’d never been a chemist and they never _would_ be a chemist, but--for some people, the pills simply have no effect, and their emotions can’t be hidden. For these people, their emotions bloom across their skin as flowers, showing all who lay eyes on them exactly what they’re feeling at any given time.

These people are the ones BL/ind fears the most.

Sometimes, they’re killed for the flowers decorating their flesh. Sometimes, if someone is deemed useful enough, BL/ind allows them to live, but forces them to undergo a surgery which turns them, almost literally, inside out, forcing the flowers to bloom within their bodies, hidden from view, rather than on the outside, from their skin.

Most of these people don’t live very long, for there is only so much room inside of a human body, and the organs which reside there are quite delicate, easily punctured by an errant rose thorn.

Most of the people--most of the _children_ \--who are able to experience the blooming of their emotions don’t live long at all.

But some of them, some lucky few, are able to run away and leave Battery City--leave BL/ind--behind.

It’s difficult to leave the city. Of course it is! If it was easy to leave, then people would leave the minute they realized what the flowers growing from their arms and legs and cheeks _were_ , what they _meant_. But BL/ind thought of this, of _course_ they did, and they made it impossible to leave the city without their explicit permission.

If you try to leave the city without a BL/ind-issued badge, you’re zapped with thousands of volts of electricity, more than enough to kill you instantly. Even with the badge, you can feel the electricity running over your skin, feel the little jolts when you move through the city gates. It’s a death-sentence as much as it is a deterrent.

And then there’s the fact that most people don’t even realize there’s anywhere to run _to_ , if they leave Battery City. BL/ind controls everything, all information, and so to most of the people who exist within the city’s walls, there isn’t anything out there but a wasteland. There isn’t anything but sand and sun and death.

But sometimes, the people who live outside the walls, the people who live in the desert, outside of BL/ind’s control, sometimes they come back.

Sometimes they come back to Battery City to steal food and supplies for the others who live out there. Sometimes they come back to disrupt BL/ind any way they can. Sometimes they come back and take people out into the desert with them.

That’s how Party Poison winds up living out in the sunshine and the sand, away from the sterile white of Battery City, with pink and red and yellow roses blooming along their cheekbones and from underneath their hair, visible to anyone who cares to look. Anyone who wants to can see the sheer joy and love for life blooming across their skin.

 

==========

 

Party Poison’s made a lot of friends in the six years since they left Battery City.

There’s Doctor Death-Defying, of course, the DJ who broadcasts his voice and messages of hope and encouragement across the desert and, occasionally, into Battery City itself (and that’s how Party learned about the life outside the city, in fact. It turns out that if you adjust the frequency of your earphones to a non-BL/ind-sanctioned station, you can sometimes pick up transmissions from outside the walls). Doctor Death took Party under his wing when they first escaped the city, and helped them figure out what the flowers meant, what each flower and color represented. Party owes him a lot.

Then there’s Kobra Kid. He arrived out in the desert about a year after Party themself did, and they’ve been close friends ever since. Kobra’s not very talkative, and his face is usually set in an expression of boredom, but the amount of flowers growing from his skin at any given time more than make up for that. Kobra’s such a feeling kid, and Party loves him. They never had a brother, back in the city, but that doesn’t really matter because now they have Kobra.

Show Pony’s another good friend. They’re Doctor Death’s assistant, helping him run the radio station and override BL/ind’s security. Party’s never seen them without their roller skates tied in place, and somehow they can even skate across the ever-shifting sands with ease. Show Pony was the first person to teach Party that gender wasn’t necessarily a strict binary, that there was a whole spectrum of genders and presentations to consider and figure out what fit best.

Fun Ghoul is probably Party’s best friend. He’s a good guy to go to if you want to blow something up, and he makes a mean grilled cheese (when they’re miraculously able to get the necessary ingredients, that is). He’s a couple years younger than they are, and he was born out here in the desert; he’s never seen the inside of Battery City, never experienced the drugging and brainwashing that goes on there. He’s always had flowers growing from him, and can’t seem to imagine life without them.

Then there’s Jet Star. Jet Star is kind of like a mom, if moms were barely two years older than you and also men with a thing for eyepatches. And if Party Poison had intense crushes on moms.

Okay, so maybe Jet Star isn’t exactly like a mom, but he’s kind and caring and always doing his best to look out for Party and all their friends. He’s a little older than Party is, and he was actually one of the unlucky kids who had to undergo the emotion reversal surgery--he wound up with flowers blooming in his stomach instead of from his skin, and the only reason he’s lived as long as he has is because his stomach acid inhibits the floral growth, and even when flowers do grow, well--it’s easy enough to throw them up.

Party Poison might spend a little too much time worrying about Jet Star and his stomach-flowers, but it’s for a good reason! They just want their friend, around whom they absolutely do not bloom daffodils and red carnations, to be happy and healthy!

Or at least, that’s what they’re currently telling Kobra Kid over a hearty meal of Power-Pup in the run-down canteen.

There are two bright yellow tulips of amusement blossoming from Kobra Kid’s neck, though his expression is as blank as ever. “I’m just sayin’, Party,” he does in fact say, stirring the remains of his meal around in the can, “it’s pretty obvious you like him, even without the flowers.”

Party Poison makes a whining noise in their throat, slumping over to press their forehead into the table between the two of them. “I don’t like him! Not like that!”

“You’re seriously not fooling anybody,” Kobra replies, leaning back in the booth. “If Jet doesn’t know you like him, he’s as big an idiot as you are.”

Party’s head snaps up so they can level Kobra with a glare. “He’s not an idiot!”

Kobra quirks an eyebrow at them.

Party groans, letting their face fall to the table again with a quiet _crack_. “Ow,” they say, then, “shut up.”

“You should just tell him.” Another yellow tulip blossoms from Kobra Kid’s forehead. “He likes you back, you know.”

“No he doesn’t!” Party Poison sits up quickly. “I mean, how would you even know if he did or not? And I don’t like him!”

“Oh, drop it, Party. He’s the only one you blush and stutter around.”

“I don’t blush and I _don’t_ stutter!”

“Hey,” says another voice, and the two of them turn to look up at Fun Ghoul, who’s just come into the canteen. “Are you guys talkin’ about how Party totally wants to bone Jet?”

“Yes,” says Kobra, at the same time Party screeches incoherently and shoves another spoonful of Power-Pup into their mouth.

Fun Ghoul just laughs, sliding into the booth beside Kobra and grabbing the nearly-empty can out of his hand. “You’re pretty obvious, dude.”

“That’s what I was telling them.” Kobra doesn’t seem too upset at the prospect of losing the rest of their meal--he’s never been a fan of whatever the hell they feed the dogs in Battery City, anyway.

“There’s nothing to be obvious about!” Party curls up in the booth, laying on their side and letting out a little yelp when they hit their knee on the edge of the table. “Ow, mother _fuck_. Jet’s a good friend, I just worry about him!”

“He can take care of himself,” Ghoul says dismissively, finishing off the can in two bites. “You just wanna get in his pants.”

Party whines again. “Stop it, shut up, I don’t want anything to do with Jet’s pants!” They feel a few flowers emerging from the back of their neck, itchy in a pleasant way, but they can’t tell what kind they are--probably something damning like daffodils or foxgloves--and Party stubbornly ignores them.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, we goin’ out after supplies today or what?” Ghoul tosses the fork he’d been eating with onto the tabletop and crushes the Power-Pup can between his palms. “‘Cause I kinda wanna bash some Dracs, and I know Kobra here wants somethin’ besides dog chow.”

“I do,” says Kobra, and Party notices that his yellow tulips have disappeared.

“Jet says he’s goin’ out with us, too.” Ghoul shoots Party a Look, one eyebrow cocked and his lips tilted in a smirk, and _why was this guy Party’s best friend, oh my_ god.

Party definitely does not blush--definitely does not turn almost the exact color as their hair--definitely does not feel the flowers on the back of their neck vanish, only to be replaced by a red carnation blooming from their left cheek, and definitely does _not_ jump up from their seat in pure excitement.

Ghoul laughs, standing up, and even Kobra Kid lets out a little chuckle.

“Yeah,” Kobra mutters under his breath, following the other two out of the canteen, “you don’t like Jet _at all_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Party groans for what they just know won’t be the last time today.

 

==========

 

Jet Star’s waiting for them out in the sands, not too far from the canteen, leaning against the old Trans Am that _technically_ belongs to Ghoul (but he’s a terrible driver, really, so that duty’s usually left to either Jet or Party). As the three approach, he gives them a big grin, and Party Poison’s heart does not skip a beat at the sight of his beautiful curly hair framing his perfect beautiful face and _oh god damn it_.

“Hey, guys!” he calls, standing up straight and walking forward a couple steps to meet them, “ready to get goin’?”

“Oh, I’m there baby. You know I’m always up for a little mayhem!” Ghoul, the tiniest of the four of them and somehow the most energetic, dashes past Jet and launches himself into the passenger seat with a shout of, “Shotgun!”

Party gives Jet a little smile they hope doesn’t look either deranged or nauseous. “Yeah, I uh, I’m so--so fuckin’ ready, um--you wanna drive, or should I, or?” And, damn it, there’s flowers growing from the back of their neck again and Kobra’s snickering behind them.

If Jet notices anything unusual, he doesn’t say anything, just gives Party a big grin. “I know how much you love to drive this thing, Party. You can have the honors today.” Then he reaches over and wraps an arm around their shoulders, giving them a squeeze, and Party absolutely does not swoon or feel flowers growing from their chest, under their shirt. That definitely does _not_ happen.

Kobra snorts and marches past the two of them, hopping into the backseat and grabbing Ghoul by the collar of his jacket, dragging him into the backseat with him.

Ghoul is loudly protesting, but Kobra dips his head down and whispers something in Ghoul’s ear, and the two of them shoot twin Looks at Party. Ghoul lets out a, frankly embarrassing if Party’s opinion matters at all, giggle and settles into the back seat.

“Oh, looks like I’ve got shotgun today!” says Jet, cheerful as always, and Party barely suppresses a whine as he releases them and takes over Ghoul’s abandoned seat in the front.

“Come _on_ , Poison, let’s fuckin’ go!”

Party groans, loud enough to express their hatred for their best friend to anyone who happens to be nearby, and gets into the driver’s seat. They’re just starting the car (listen to that engine _purr_ , god the cars in Battery City have _nothing_ on this baby) when Jet leans over, way into their space, to look at them.

“You’ve got your mask, yeah?”

Party gulps, fighting back the blush and willing the flowers which will inevitably grow to _please do so somewhere Jet won’t see them_ , and then they nod. “Yeah, course I do, never go anywhere without it, are you--are you _crazy?_ ” And oh god that was such a nervous laugh, fuck, Kobra’s right their crush is super fuckin’ obvious huh?

Jet just grins. “Put it on, then,” he says, reaching into the back seat to grab his helmet and slip it on his head, obscuring his mass of hair. He turns to look back at Kobra and Ghoul. “You guys too! We’re not goin’ anywhere near Battery City with bare faces!” His voice is muffled from within the helmet.

Ghoul scoffs, already tugging his Frankenstein mask over his face. “Yeah, yeah, sure thing, _Mom_. I don’t have a goddamn deathwish, seriously!”

“Kinda seems like you do, most of the time,” Kobra mutters, putting his own helmet on.

Ghoul elbows him.

Hard.

Party looks over at Jet again, who raises his helmet’s visor to give them a wink, and Party’s heart shudders again. They quickly put their own domino mask on and turn to look out the windshield, revving the engine.

“Let’s go ghost us some Dracs!”


	2. Protea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fabulous Killjoys go on a supply run.
> 
> "If they fire, Jet Star dies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week Six! Woohoo!
> 
> I've been having so much fun writing this fic, guys. So damn much fun.  
> This chapter and next have been beta-read by my beloved zucchini, ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr)!
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: violence, vomiting.  
> neither of them should be too terribly graphic, but if those things disturb you at all, please proceed with caution!

When Party Poison first left Battery City, tucked away in the back of a commandeered Better Living Industries supply truck, they had very little idea just what they were getting into. Sure, they’d been listening in on some rebel radio stations for the last couple weeks, when they could get them to come in on their BL/ind-issued earphones, so they knew there were people out there in the desert. People who were the exact opposite of the people who lived in Battery City. People who allowed the flowers to grow from their flesh unhindered.

Party--who hadn’t yet chosen this name, and still went by their given name at the time--looked down at their wrist, where a white flower was blooming. It had six petals with a little trumpet-shaped part in the center. They had never seen a flower like this before (really, they’d seen very few flowers at this point, and even then they’d all been growing from their own body and Party had no idea what names they might have). Later, they would learn that it was a daffodil, which would blossom in white if you were feeling uncertain, and in yellow if you were feeling affection toward someone who you weren’t sure would return it.

At this point, though, Party knew only that the fact that this flower--that _any_ flower--was growing from the skin of their wrist meant that their life was changing big time.

 

==========

 

The desert was as different from the cold sterility of Battery City as could be.

For one thing, there was sand every-fucking-where, making walking a completely different experience than the flat, solid surfaces which made up the city, and flying into your face and hair in tiny granules whenever there was a slight breeze. Party decided pretty quick that they hated the sand.

But then there was all the color. The color was what made Party sure they hadn’t made a mistake in coming here.

The people in the desert seemed to thrive on color, decorating anything and everything with as many different hues as they could. Signs advertising various services, buildings covered in stripes and splatters of color, even the people themselves--hand-painted leather jackets, jeans and shorts decorated with pens and markers, even their hair dyed unnatural and bright colors. It almost hurt to look at, but in the best possible way.

And the best part was that everyone had flowers growing out of their skin. Roses--joy and passion. Starflowers, sweetpeas--courage, gratitude. An entire spectrum of carnations, each representing a different and specific type of love. It was amazing. It was…

Beautiful.

The rebels who’d picked them up from the city had taken them directly to Doctor Death-Defying’s radio station, and Doctor Death immediately took it upon himself to teach Party about the flowers, about the desert, about what it meant to be a Killjoy. He found Party a place to stay--put them up with Show Pony, who was 15 at the time and had been out of the city for four years.

Pony hadn’t exactly been thrilled to be saddled with a newly-blossoming preteen, but they’d done what they could. Toted them around with them, showed them all the best places to eat or sleep or party. Sometimes “what they could do” consisted of dropping Party off at an old gas station for hours on end, a place that was apparently a watering hole for kids who were either newly arrived in the desert, like Party Poison, or simply too young to actually join up with any of the Killjoys, like Fun Ghoul.

Party and Ghoul didn’t get along at first. Ghoul was just ten, but he had far more experience out in the desert than Party did, and he’d been pretty smug about it ( _the little bastard_ , Party always thinks fondly to themself when they think back on this part of their life). They’d clashed, both trying to prove themselves better than the other, and by the end of their first month together they’d emerged as best friends, white carnations blooming from each of their necks.

They still fight quite a bit--all the time, really--both verbally and physically, but now it’s all purely out of love for each other.

Well, usually. Sometimes Ghoul is just an ass (the same can be said for Party, as well, but Party would never admit to such a thing. It’s always Ghoul’s fault).

Kobra Kid had shown up about a year after Party had. Party had recognized a lot of themself, their fears and anxieties, in Kobra and immediately taken him under their wing, even forcing Ghoul, the filthy little gremlin, to befriend him.

It was only after the three of them got in a fight with a few older kids--wannabe Killjoys--and got their asses handed to them that Party realized they’d grown their first ever pink carnations, and that Kobra had a matching pair of them growing from the backs of his hands.

Pink carnations, the flowers of familial love. Party hadn’t even grown any of these back in the city, when they still lived with their parents. And now they had a brother.

Life’s kinda funny like that, sometimes, Party’s learned.

They didn’t meet Jet until more recently. He never seemed to frequent the same places Party Poison did, so they’d just never run into each other until one day, about four years after they’d first come out to the desert, Party was hanging around outside a shop, sharing a pack of cigarettes with Ghoul and Kobra, and this guy had just, like, appeared.

Okay, so he actually roared up to the shop on a flashy motorcycle they could all hear coming for a mile or two, but then he’d stepped away and pulled his helmet off and flashed a grin in their direction.

It wasn’t hard to befriend Jet Star. He was the type of guy who always seemed to anticipate the needs of his friends before even they did, and was always ready to lend a hand. Jet Star had friends all over the desert, too--he seemed to know everyone’s names and didn’t have a problem with three kids tagging along behind him.

Party didn’t really become good friends with Jet Star for a while, though, and that honestly didn’t bother them much. It wasn’t until one particular clap with a couple of Dracs in which Jet’s shiny fuckin’ motorcycle was spectacularly destroyed by an errant blast from a certain someone’s ray gun-- _thanks, Ghoul_ ) that their friendship was truly cemented, at least on Party’s end, as evidenced by the white carnations blooming from their scalp. They assumed that Jet felt the same way, even though they knew he couldn’t actually grow flowers on his skin to prove his feelings on this or any subject, because after that, the four of them became...well, a quartet.

==========

 

They’ve hidden their car pretty cleverly, Party thinks, parking behind a pile of junk a few miles outside of Battery City’s walls. The key is still in the ignition, the car angled perfectly so that they can make a break for it as soon as the opportunity comes.

Meanwhile, the four of them crouch near the road into the city, waiting for the supply truck they know will be coming through soon.

“Okay,” says Ghoul, who’s not so much crouching as laying sprawling behind the other three, “Kobra’s turn! Fuck, marry, kill: me, Show Pony, or a Drac.”

Kobra Kid grunts, watching the road. “Ask me a tough one next time. Kill you, marry Pony, fuck a Drac.”

“That’s fair,” Ghoul says, shoving his feet deeper into the sand. Party bites back a noise of disgust--Ghoul will be complaining for hours later of the sand in his shoes, and they really don’t wanna deal with that. “Party’s turn!”

Party frowns, glancing back at Ghoul’s smug face. “No,” they say, already knowing what’s coming, what Ghoul’s planning on getting them to admit. “No, I’m not playing!”

Ghoul’s grin widens. “Okay,” he says. He turns his attention to Jet Star, who’s crouched beside Party, and Party’s blood freezes. “Jet! Your turn!”

Jet snorts, an amused sound. “Yeah, okay,” he says lightly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Fuck, marry, kill: Doc Death, Korse, and...Party!”

Party fights back the blush that threatens to grace their cheeks, but they feel the flowers growing on their arms--thankfully covered by the sleeves of their leather jacket.

“Aw, come on, Ghoul!” Jet says, voice still light and cheerful. “I agree with the Kid, you make this too easy.” Without taking his eyes off the road, Jet Star holds up three fingers, folding them down one by one as he makes his list. “Fuck Doctor Death, I guess. He probably wouldn’t make it weird in the morning, at least.”

Kobra snorts. “Ew,” he says.

“Shut up,” Jet reaches over Party--who absolutely does not suck in a breath and sit in frozen silence, keenly aware of Jet’s sleeve brushing the top of their head--to ruffle Kobra’s hair. He returns to his previous position, and Party relaxes slightly, letting out the breath they’d been holding. “Moving on. Kill Korse, obviously. Marry Party. Seriously, Ghoul, too easy.”

Party sucks in another breath, choking on saliva and letting out a horrible, hacking cough. “Wait,” they say, hoarse. “Wait, what?”

Jet looks over at them, just a glance before turning back toward the road, but Party is now openly staring at him, their mouth probably hanging open and wearing an expression of complete idiocy. Or, as Kobra would probably say, their normal expression. Fuck you, Kobra.

A flower blooms from the back of their head, probably a daffodil if Ghoul’s loud guffaw is anything to go by.

“Well, yeah,” says Jet. “I’m not gonna marry Korse, or, god forbid, _Doctor Death_. Who does that leave?”

Oh. Okay. So it was just a process of elimination thing. That’s fine. Totally great, in fact, because Party definitely doesn’t wanna kiss Jet Star under a Joshua tree or hold his hand or go grocery shopping with him or wake up in bed next to him or get, like, a lizard to raise together or anything like that. They totally don’t want to do any of that, so it’s a good thing that Jet Star doesn’t want that either and would only marry them if they had to choose between them, Doctor Death-Defying, or Korse.

Totally fine.

Party nods once, just barely spotting a short spike of foxgloves growing from the side of their neck, and quickly covers it up with a combination of shoulder-length red hair and the collar of their jacket. Now’s not a good time, emotions!

Kobra Kid interrupts Party’s thoughts. “Hey, the truck’s coming.”

Party snaps their head up to look toward Battery City, and sure enough, there’s a speck of white in the distance, moving along the road toward them. Party Poison shoves down their disappointed thoughts and gives a nod, motioning for Ghoul to move forward, and everyone scrambles to grab their masks and helmets, securing them over their faces as they all move into position.

They’ve done this before, on more than one occasion, so the four of them know the plan, know how to work together to steal what they need and get out before they get caught. It’s always a risk they know Jet Star would rather not have them take, but those who live in the desert need to eat, too, and who better to raid a truck guarded by a cloud of Dracs than a few kids with colorful masks and ray guns?

Fun Ghoul’s hidden nearest the road, ready to burst out as soon as the truck is close enough. He’s the smallest, and the most energetic--he’ll take out the driver.

Kobra Kid is situated nearby, his ray gun held loosely in his grip as he watches the truck’s progress down the road. He’ll start on the calvary riding ahead of and alongside the truck, hopefully without having to get out in the open.

Jet Star and Party Poison are closer to the car, their eyes and guns both trained on the road as they await the first of the Dracs. Party very carefully does not think about the set of Jet’s mouth as he concentrates, does not thing about the way his knees bend as he waits for the action to start. Party forces themself to focus on the heat of the sand and the air around them, the feel of the gun in their hand, the sound of the engines coming closer to them.

There’s a flash of light, Kobra firing his gun from behind the junkpile, and almost at the same time, Ghoul launches himself at the truck, firing his own gun.

Party and Jet jump into action, taking aim at the Dracs who leap from their motorcycles and fire their own ray guns at them. The truck careens off the road on the other side before coming to a sudden stop, which presumably means that Ghoul has incapacitated the driver. Party can’t think about that too much, though, because they’re busy trying to keep the Dracs back and away from their friends.

One Draculoid gets a little too close, Party narrowly avoiding the shot that goes over their shoulder instead of through their skull, and when they return fire the Drac falls forward instead of back, and Party has to jump out of the way to avoid being knocked over by the body.

Unfortunately, this means they’ve now abandoned their hiding place and are currently in the thick of battle, a good number of Dracs focusing on them instead of on climbing over or around the junk pile.

“Shit!” Party dodges another blast and leaps to the side, hurtling themself down the road in the hopes of at least being able to lead the Dracs away from their friends--who will, hopefully, be able to shoot a few of them in the back as they chase Party. “Fuck fuck fuck--!” There’s another junk pile further down the road, with a few scraggly trees and bushes growing around it. With luck, they can hide in there and take down whichever Dracs survive their friends’ attack.

Party glances behind them to see the Dracs gaining on them, one of them falling after getting hit in the back of the head (“Boom. Headshot,” comes Kobra’s bored voice from behind the junk). Party fires off a couple shots as they run, not stopping or even slowing to see if they hit any of them, and when they pass the truck, Fun Ghoul leans out the window and launches himself at one of the Dracs chasing them, shooting a second one as the both of them go down.

“Thanks, Ghoul!” Party calls, leaping over a few metal odds and ends to hide behind the new junk pile.

There’s a pained grunt, and the sound of a ray gun firing, and then Ghoul shouts back, “You owe me, Poison!”

“Don’t I always,” Party murmurs, peering over the junk pile and taking out one of the few Dracs who’s made it this far. Party’s heart might be in overdrive and their hair might be soaked with sweat and their shoes might have enough sand in them to rival Ghoul’s, but at least it looks like the fight’s close to coming to an end.

Then Party’s heart comes to a sudden stop, their eyes flying open wide, because _that was Jet Star’s scream just now_.

Party can’t see Jet from where they’re standing, because there’s a bunch of old machine parts and a BL/ind supply truck in the way, but they can see Fun Ghoul out in the road, and they can see his posture: stiff, shoulders tight, body angled as though he wants to run but doesn’t know if he should. His ray gun is held out in front of him, his finger on the trigger, but he hasn’t fired it at whatever he’s aiming at.

Something is wrong.

Something is _very_ wrong, and they feel the few flowers which had remained blooming from their skin throughout the fight disappear, at the same time a single peony, huge, pink, and absolutely terrifying, blooms from the side of Fun Ghoul’s head.

Party is shaking. What’s happened to Jet Star? Was he captured? Was he-- _hit?_ Fuck, they can’t see! They have to get closer, somehow. The Dracs who’d chased them are all down, presumably dead, so there’s no one left for Party to fight.

“Let him go,” Ghoul says, and his voice is colder than Party can ever remember it being.

Party dashes from behind the junk pile to the shadow left by the supply truck.

“No,” says a voice Party’s never heard before. “Not until you all drop your weapons and show yourselves.”

Party creeps forward, sticking to the shadow of the truck, and when they get to the rear, they cautiously peer around it.

There’s a woman standing in the middle of the road, dressed in stark white clothes, no sign of a Drac mask on her person. Her back is to Party, and she has one arm around Jet Star’s shoulders, holding him to her chest. In her other hand she has a blinding white ray gun, pressed to his temple. Jet Star’s helmet lays in the sand a few feet from them, the visor cracked, and it’s like a scene out of one of Party’s nightmares.

Kobra’s still partially hidden by the pile of scrap metal, his gun trained on the woman, but Party knows he won’t fire--and neither will Ghoul--because while the ray guns may be fast, this woman can absolutely fire her own straight into Jet’s skull before the blast reaches her.

If they fire, Jet Star dies.

“Guys,” Jet says, his voice seeming surprisingly calm, given the circumstances. “Don’t worry about me, just take her out.”

Party barely manages to bite back the hiss that would surely give away their position. Of course Jet Star would try and sacrifice himself for their safety, _of course he fucking would_ , that big-hearted motherfucker.

Neither Fun Ghoul nor Kobra Kid fire their weapons. Party hears a clatter--Ghoul must have dropped his gun.

Kobra’s still holding his, but he looks like he’s going to drop it any second now.

The woman seems to have forgotten Party exists, or maybe she thinks the Dracs killed them, or maybe she never saw them in the first place, but regardless of which statement is true, Party’s the only one who can do anything to save their friends now.

They take aim, hand clenched too tightly on their yellow ray gun, and they fire.

The woman goes down before she can even think of firing her own gun, which falls uselessly into the sand a moment before she herself does.

Jet Star stumbles forward once he’s released, falling to his knees, and for one heart-stopping moment Party is afraid that she had managed to shoot him after all, but--but, no, he’s alive, he’s alive and throwing up all over the road.

That’s honestly pretty gross, but nothing Party isn’t used to, and certainly much more preferable to Jet Star, like, _dying_ during a routine supply run.

Party’s running forward to grip Jet’s shoulders, Ghoul and Kobra rushing to do the same, and Party falls to their knees beside Jet, dust flying up to obscure the both of them for just a moment before settling across their bodies. They wrap one arm around Jet, laying their head against his neck. “Fuck, Jet,” they murmur as the other two crowd around them. “Don’t be such a fucking martyr, oh my _god_.”

Jet lets out a choked laugh. “Sorry,” he says, a little shakily, and Party tightens their grip on him. He turns his head slightly to meet Party’s gaze, and there’s a yellow petal stuck to his chin. Party reaches out and pinches its pointed end, peeling it off to drop it on the ground, and then they glance down.

Amidst the nasty chewed-up and half-digested kibble (seriously, this truck better have something edible besides Power-Pup in it, or Party’s gonna shank someone), there’s a bunch of flowers, mostly petals and other pieces, but a few whole ones, too. Party recognizes some anemone and begonias--understandable, as Jet Star was probably scared out of his goddamn mind, despite the calm front he had on--but also, a few flowers they’re pretty intimately familiar with.

Yellow daffodils and red carnations.

Party swallows thickly, almost certainly staring way too hard at what is literally a steaming pile of puke baking in the hot sun, but they can’t tear their eyes away.

Jet Star has a crush on someone.

Jet has a crush, and the feelings he has for whoever it is are strong enough that the flowers actually managed to take root in his stomach.

Party’s own insides are a mess of emotions, and they can feel flowers blooming on their skin, only for them to vanish and another flower grow in their place almost immediately.

“...Party? Hey, Party! Party, dude, are you dying or what?”

They jolt, lifting their gaze to meet Ghoul’s. “What?” they ask, voice sounding distant to their own ears.

“Damn, Party, the heat goin’ to your head or what?” Ghoul shakes his head, exasperated, and looks at Kobra. “C’mon, you and me’ll have to grab what we can, these two are useless.”

Kobra prods Party’s thigh with the toe of his boot. “Get Jet to the car,” he says, and turns to follow Ghoul to the supply truck.

Party looks at Jet again, who’s staring at them with wide eyes. They swallow again, nervous, and then steel themself, releasing Jet to stand up. They hold their hand out to help him to his feet. “C’mon,” they say, no doubt sounding more confident than they really are, “Let’s get the car ready to split.”

“Uh,” says Jet. There’s a beat of silence, indecision flickering in his eyes, and then he takes Party’s hand and lets them hoist him upward.

Once he’s standing, Party lets go of his hand and moves over to pick up his helmet, thrusting it at Jet. “Gonna, uh--gonna have to fix that visor. Huh.”

“Yeah.” Jet’s staring at them, with some expression Party can’t read.

For a few moments, the only sounds are those of Ghoul and Kobra rummaging through the truck, throwing things around as they sort through it for the most useful items. Party’s watching Jet. Fuck. His eyes are beautiful. Goddamnit. Those flowers in the road back there better not be for Kobra or, like, Show Pony or someone. Fuck, no, wait, they shouldn’t be thinking like that, because those flowers are definitely _not_ for Party, so they must be for someone else, and Party doesn’t wanna be _that guy_ and get all jealous and stuff, because that’s pretty shitty and they’re good friends and Party doesn’t wanna lose one of their best friends over some stupid crush, and--

“C’mon, Party,” Jet says, interrupting their thoughts. “I, um, I think we should talk.”

And, _fuck._ “Okay.”

They follow him off the road and into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ace: "HOW CAN YOU END A CHAPTER WITH 'WE NEED TO TALK' ???? ARE YOU A SADIST??"  
> me: "i am. ;) just think. everyone else who reads it will have to wait an entire week to get to chapter 3."
> 
> that being said, chapter 3 is FINISHED, and just needs to be edited. it will be posted next sunday, and i think you'll all enjoy it!  
> thank you for reading! comments and kudos are super appreciated!!


	3. Bellflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison and Jet Star have an important discussion.
> 
> "'Okay,' says Jet. 'I think we’ve had some kind of miscommunication.'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week!! Seven!!  
> I don't wanna distract you too much from the conclusion, so I'm just gonna say this: they are both so fucking stupid. absolute idiots. god. what dumbasses.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Beta'd by my magnificent zucchini, ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr)!
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: vomiting.

Jet Star gets in the passenger seat, shutting the door behind him and leaning forward to place his helmet at his feet. Then he straightens up, staring out the windshield at Party.

Party feels like their heart is going to beat out of their chest. There’s a spike of foxgloves growing out of their forehead, drooping into their field of vision, and several anemone of varying colors growing from their hands, and some unknown flowers growing under their clothes--they haven’t glanced down their shirt to see what kind they are. Maybe more of the same, maybe those damn daffodils again.

Jet’s still staring at them through the windshield, and Party really can’t stand out here any longer. With a sigh, they make their way over to the car and drop into the driver’s seat, carefully not looking at Jet and placing their hands on the steering wheel. They drum out a little beat on the wheel, pretending they aren’t nervous.

They’re totally not nervous.

“So, uh,” says Jet, and nope, Party’s still not looking at him, because to look at him means to acknowledge all the feelings in their heart and growing all over their body, and if this is going to end the way Party’s afraid it will, they’d rather go down with  _ some _ dignity. Jet clears his throat after a moment, then continues, “You probably, um. It’s probably weird for you, right?”

Oh god. Jet is seriously gonna force Party to say it, huh? Sick, beautiful bastard. Party sighs, the foxgloves multiplying. “I mean...yeah, kinda. I didn’t, y’know, set out to have these...feelings.”

They can see Jet nod out of the corner of their eye, his thick, curly hair moving into view and then back out of view just as quickly. “Me neither. I mean, I didn’t--I wasn’t, like, trying to...y’know. Fall in love.” He’s quiet for a moment, and another purple anemone blooms from Party’s thumb. “I’m really sorry.”

Party feels like they’re gonna break apart. Jet’s known Party has a big fat juicy crush on him and he’s apologizing for not feeling that way about them, for instead feeling that way about someone else, and,  _ fuck _ , they kind of wish he’d just said that instead of saying  _ I’m sorry _ . What the hell is Party supposed to say to  _ that _ ? How the hell are they supposed to respond?!

They clear their throat, fingers tapping out another tune on the steering wheel. Probably something they heard on Doctor Death’s station last week. Yeah. Music is pretty great.

Fuck, Jet Star still needs a response. 

Party sighs, still not looking at him. “It’s...I mean, it’s fine. I didn’t expect--I mean, you can...you can like whoever you want, it doesn’t--I can just. Y’know. Deal with it.”

“Yeah, but. I don’t want things to be...weird. Between us.”

“Yeah.” Maybe Party should just shove their head in the sand for a while. Fill their head with enough sand to rival Ghoul’s shoes. 

A sprig of rue grows out of Party’s chest, poking out of the collar of their shirt. They don’t bother to hide it. 

It’s kind of funny, that yellow’s supposed to be a happy color, but rue is bright and sunny and it only grows when people are the saddest.

Party sighs. Again. “So…” It’s only fair, right? Jet knows Party likes him. They should get to hear who Jet likes. Right? “So who is it?”

Jet’s quiet for a minute. Then, “What?”

He sounds surprised. Bewildered? Party doesn’t know, they don’t have a fucking  _ dictionary _ handy.

They glance his way--just a glance, that won’t hurt, there’s already fuckin’  _ rue _ growing like directly out of their heart--but a glance turns into prolonged eye contact, because Jet’s eyes are wide, his shoulders tense. He looks shocked. Why the hell would he look  _ shocked?! _

Party looks out the windshield again. “Uh,” they say. “You, um, you don’t have to tell me. It’s okay. I mean, it’s personal, and like, just because--just because you know who  _ I _ like, that doesn’t mean, like, you don’t have to tell me--” They huff out a breath of air. “Fuck, just forget it, I’m gonna--gonna go help Kobra--” Party opens the door of the Trans Am, but then Jet’s hand is on their wrist, and they freeze.

“Party,” says Jet, and they can’t read his tone. “...What are you talking about?”

They look at him. He’s staring back at them, his grip on their wrist hard and insistent.

“Um,” they say. “...What are  _ you _ talking about?” Because seriously, what the hell is going on? Jet Star’s known that Party’s had a huge crush on him for  _ ages _ , and he didn’t want to tell them that he didn’t feel that way about them, because he liked someone else, and he didn’t want to make things awkward between the two of them. And then he had to go and vomit up fuckin’ _ daffodils _ and  _ carnations _ all over the road, so Party knows he likes someone, and they don’t know who, and Jet’s acting like...like he doesn’t know that Party knows?

Actually, what the fuck. Nothing makes any sense anymore. Did anything ever make sense? Party can’t remember. Where the hell is Kobra when they need him to help them logic their emotions?

“Okay,” says Jet. “I think we’ve had some kind of miscommunication.”

Party can only nod. “Uh...yeah. Somethin’ like that. Can you, um, can we like, start from the beginning or something? I have no fuckin’ clue what’s goin’ on right now.”

“Right. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Jet releases Party’s wrist and sits back in his seat, twiddling his thumbs--actually goddamn  _ twiddling his fucking thumbs! _ \--and waits until Party’s shut the door and turned to face him before he continues, “So, uh. I’ve had a crush on you for, like, a couple of months but I didn’t wanna say anything because I know you have a crush on Ghoul, and I didn’t wanna make things weird.”

“What the fuck?!” The words fall from Party’s lips before they can actually finish processing anything, almost before Jet’s finished talking, and it feels like all the flowers covering their body vanish at once. “Wait, you-- _ Ghoul?! _ I don’t like  _ Ghoul! _ ”

Jet startles a little, his mouth opening and then shutting again with an audible  _ click _ . “What? Yes you do.”

“I don’t. I  _ really _ don’t. Ghoul is my best friend and he is also a  _ literal goddamn demon! _ If I had ever had  _ any _ romantic feelings for him whatsoever, they would’ve been wiped out the moment he put fucking  _ glue _ in my hair dye.” Because, really, how could Party  _ ever _ fall for someone who would not only waste resources like that, but also would  _ willfully fuck _ with their  _ goddamn hair?! _

“Um.” Jet ducks his head, his hair falling forward to obscure his face. “But, you were...you had daffodils. Yellow daffodils, and...red carnations.”

“Yeah,” says Party, because there’s no point denying anything now. “But why the fuck would you think they were for  _ Ghoul?” _

“You always grew them when he was around! What was I supposed to think?!” Jet’s peering out of his hair now, and Party can see his eyes glimmering through the strands.

“Um. I don’t grow them when Ghoul’s around.” Oh god, it’s just hit them that they’ve been pining after Jet and it could have been cleared up and resolved probably _ months _ ago, but Jet thought they liked  _ Ghoul _ (absolutely revolting, Party would rather eat sand) so he never said anything to Party, and Party was too embarrassed to admit it to Jet! “I grow them when I, uh, when I think about you.”

“When you--wait, what?” Jet’s face is fully visible again, his head tilted toward Party, his eyes wide. “You. You like  _ me? _ ”

“Yes!” Party groans, dropping their head against the steering wheel in agony and then leaping back with a yelp when the horn blares. “ _ Motherfucker! _ Fucking--” They turn to Jet again. “I have a huge fucking crush on you and I have for, like, probably the same length of time you’ve had one on me, maybe even longer, which is ridiculous because Ghoul and Kobra have been teasing me about it for  _ months _ and said you probably already knew, and I thought you weren’t sayin’ anything about it because you didn’t wanna make me feel bad or somethin’, but we probably coulda been, like, making out _ every day _ for  _ two goddamn months _ , oh my  _ god! _ ”

Jet Star blinks. “...You. You like me?”

Party lets out an unintelligible shriek and slams their hands on the steering wheel.

 

==========

 

The truck, it turns out, was chock-full of canned fruits and vegetables and even some soups--fucking _chicken noodle_ _soup_ , nectar of the _gods!_ \--and the four of them manage to fill the entire trunk with the stuff, plus the floorboards and the remaining space in the backseat. They’re gonna be eating good for a while, and Kobra can’t seem to stop voicing his joy over the fact that he won’t have to eat Power-Pup anytime soon.

“Fuck,” he says, cradling a can of diced tomatoes in his palms, “We can make fuckin’  _ spaghetti. _ ”

“We don’t have any noodles, dumbass,” says Ghoul beside him. “That’s like, the most important part of spaghetti. The fuckin’ spaghetti.”

Kobra reaches over and snags a can of peaches from the collection in Ghoul’s lap. “That’s why we’re gonna trade some of this, _ dumbass _ . Someone’s gotta have spaghetti and an insatiable craving for fuckin’...asparagus or whatever the fuck.”

“Who the hell would crave  _ asparagus _ when they have fuckin’  _ spaghetti?! _ ”

“Someone who’s got, like, scurvy or somethin’, fuck you Ghoul, asparagus is goddamn good.”

“Kobra,” says Party, who can’t keep their silence any longer, “I know you’re excited, but holy shit, calm down. I’ve never heard you string so many words together at once.”

“Shut up,” says Kobra, and Ghoul laughs, loud and high.

A yellow tulip blooms from Party’s cheek, and they turn slightly to glance at Jet, who’s already facing Party, lips curved in a wide smile. Party blushes, a flower blooms from their forehead, and they turn back to the road.

So Jet has just as much of a crush on Party as Party has on him, and they’re both totally and completely aware of that now, and they are absolutely going to talk about this later when they get back home and away from Kobra and Ghoul, who had arrived back at the car to demand their help before Party could do anything more than place the palm of their hand on Jet’s _ soft, supple, deliciously stubbled cheek _ \--

Anyway!

Anyway, the two of them now know, more or less, where the other stands. Now they just have to talk about it and figure some stuff out, and don’t think Party hasn’t noticed how Kobra and Ghoul haven’t mentioned anything about the revelation, because Party knows they saw the flowers too, and Party also knows that they’re probably going to have to physically fight Ghoul later because he’ll refuse to leave the subject alone! But, in the meantime, it’s nice to not have to deal with the teasing, and they can just drive through the desert and think about Jet, and the flowers that have taken root.

 

==========

 

It isn’t until after they arrive back at their home base and sort through all the food they’ve managed to liberate from BL/ind’s clutches, after they get everything stashed away and get cleaned up as best as they can without soap and water, that Party and Jet get the chance to talk.

Kobra actually lures Ghoul away, outside somewhere--probably to go off in search of those elusive spaghetti noodles--and Kobra catches Party’s eye on the way out and sends them a Look. They’re gonna talk later, and Kobra’s absolutely gonna make fun of them, but right now Party doesn’t really care because they’re about to talk to Jet and maybe--probably--okay, definitely-- _ kiss _ Jet, so as long as Kobra gets Ghoul out of their hair for now, Party couldn’t care any less about what happens later.

And so, once those two are gone, Party turns to Jet and announces, “Okay, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Jet only manages to get out, “Wait, right n--” before Party’s crashing into him, their hands clutching his shoulders and tugging him down just that little bit to press their lips to his.

It’s a  _ really _ bad kiss. Party’s lips are parted slightly, and not in a sexy way. Their teeth clink painfully with Jet’s, their noses bump uncomfortably together, and their lips--both Party’s and Jet’s--are dry and chapped, skin catching. There aren’t any fireworks behind their eyelids.

Just as quickly as they’d pressed together, they break apart. Party loosens their grip on his shoulders, releasing him with one hand to cover their nose and mouth. “Ow, fuck,” they say.

“Yeah,” says Jet, scrunching up his nose in the most adorable way. “That was, um. Not good.”

Party barks out a laugh. “Y’think?” And, fuck, this should honestly be embarrassing as hell, but Party can see the red carnations and pale pink roses growing from their own wrists, and they know Jet can, too, so they’re not gonna worry about it. “Whatever, we just need t’ practice.”

“Practice,” says Jet, and his eyes are clearly trained on Party’s lips. “Yeah, okay.” 

This time, Jet initiates the kiss, and it’s-- _ oh _ \--it’s so much better. Yeah, their lips are still chapped, and maybe there’s still a little too much teeth, but this time their noses don’t bang into each other, and Jet’s hand is in their hair, cradling the back of their head and pulling them closer and--and okay, yeah, there are definitely fireworks this time.

Party’s free hand, the one not clutching Jet’s shoulder as though their life depends on it, lifts up to cup his face, their thumb stroking over the rough patches of his stubble and  _ god _ , that’s fucking  _ exquisite _ . 

Jet makes a sound in the back of his throat and breaks the kiss, which Party only finds mildly disappointing since he doesn’t really go far, his eyes now locked with theirs and his soft breath still ghosting over their lips.

“Yeah,” says Party, still cupping Jet’s cheek, “yeah, fuck, that was  _ much _ better.”

Jet lets out a little laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead against Party’s, and the world around them disappears behind the curtain of Jet’s hair. “You’ve got roses, like…” he makes a gesture with one hand that Party can only kind of feel, not see, “...all over.”

It’s Party’s turn to laugh. “Gee,” they say, voice laced with sarcasm and amusement, “I wonder why.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m probably gonna barf up a bunch of them later, so the feeling’s pretty mutual.”

“Oh my _ god _ .” Party pulls away, leaving the comfortable darkness of Jet’s hair and dropping their hand from his cheek, but they’re laughing. “Oh my god, that’s so  _ gross _ .”

“You’re gross,” Jet retorts, letting go of Party’s head only to reach down and intertwine their fingers. It’s kind of sweaty, because it’s like a  _ billion _ degrees right now, but it’s still nice.

Party gives his hand a squeeze, and, fuck, it’s not like this is the first time they’ve touched or even held hands--the four of them have always been pretty tactile with each other--but there’s just a huge goddamn difference between holding hands with one of your best friends and holding hands with  _ the guy you’re kinda sorta completely in love with _ .

“Oh, wait, fuck,” they say, looking up at Jet with wide eyes. Shit, they got so into the whole kissing thing they totally forgot to do the whole talking thing!

Jet blinks at Party, looking suddenly nervous. “Wait?” He starts to pull his hand away, and  _ nope _ , Party’s havin’ none of that. “What?”

“Dude,” says Party, squeezing Jet’s hand, “will you be my fucking boyfriend?”

“Oh,” says Jet. And then, “ _ Oh. _ ” He tugs Party closer, tilting his head down toward them, lips curving in a wide smile. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely, I’ll--” But then he’s releasing Party completely and lurching away to vomit carnations and roses all over the goddamn floor.

Party groans. “ _ Dude, _ ” they admonish, but they’re still smiling, and they move to help him clean it up.

 

==========

 

It’s a few hours later that Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul turn back up. Party and Jet are sitting on the old, beat-up sofa in the corner of the room, snuggled up with Party’s head on Jet’s shoulder and Jet’s chin atop Party’s head.

“Ew,” says Kobra, immediately upon entering. “Get a fuckin’ room.”

Party flips him off, not even bothering to open their eyes, because fuck, Jet’s shoulder is like the perfect height and the perfect level of firmness and they’re just really goddamn comfortable right now.

Ghoul giggles. “You finally told Jet you wanna get in his pants, huh? Good for you, asshole, now I don’t have to listen to you whining anymore.”

Party’s eyes fly open. “Shut the fuck up, Ghoul!”

“You told Ghoul you wanted in my pants?” Jet only sounds vaguely concerned. “That’s kind of weird.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jet, I didn’t say anything to him, and anyway you have  _ no _ goddamn room to talk,  _ you _ thought I had a crush on him!”

Ghoul makes a horrifyingly realistic gagging sound. “Fuckin’  _ gross, _ ” he says. “Party, if you  _ ever _ look at me with hearts in your goddamn eyes, I’m takin’ your eyeballs and feedin’ ‘em to you. Oh my god.  _ No!” _ He mimes shooting himself in the head, and Party rolls their eyes.

“Yeah, not gonna happen. You’re a fuckin’  _ mess _ , Ghoul, and anyway, I don’t plan on fallin’ for anyone else anytime soon.” They shoot a little grin at Jet.

“Ew,” Kobra says again. “Anyway, everyone shut the fuck up about their love lives, we got fuckin’ spaghetti.” He holds up a white cardboard box which features the BL/ind logo. 

“Oh, you actually got some!” Jet sounds pleased, leaning forward and moving his arm to wrap around Party’s shoulders as they both sit up. “What’d you have to trade for it?”

“Two cans’a applesauce!” Ghoul says, reaching over to try and snag the spaghetti from Kobra. He fails, Kobra simply lifting the box over his head. “Fuck you, give it to me, I’m makin’ us a big pot’a spaghetti! I’m not lettin’  _ you _ cook, anyway. Give it  _ here _ , you tall motherfucker!” He jumps up, trying to climb up Kobra to get to the box, and Kobra just stands there, yellow tulips growing in several places across his body the only indication he’s even aware of anything happening.

“Spaghetti,” he says, and there’s a dreamy tone to his voice that they hardly ever hear.

Party laughs, turning to look at Jet, who’s laughing as well. They share a smile, Jet giving their shoulder a light, happy squeeze, and Party looks over the room.

Their eyes sweep over Kobra Kid, their brother, who’s finally relinquished the pasta box to Fun Ghoul, their best goddamn friend, who’s running over to the kitchen, letting out a little “ _ Whoop! _ ” as he goes.

Their gaze settles on Jet Star again, Jet, the guy who makes them feel all soft and gooey and makes them want to do sappy stuff like hold his hand and kiss his forehead. Party’s mouth actually kind of hurts, now, from smiling so hard, and they lean over to press their lips against Jet’s cheek.

They settle back into the sofa with Jet, and as they close their eyes, they feel flowers growing all across their body, and they don’t even have to look to know what they are.

Carnations, the flowers of love, of all kinds of love--pink and white and red.

Yeah, they decide, snuggling into Jet’s side, love is pretty fuckin’ great. They wouldn’t trade their flowers for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ace: wait do they have toothpaste  
> is party about to kiss a man who threw up just hours ago without toothpaste  
> me: they do not have toothpaste.  
> this is just how life is when ur a rebel in the desert ace."
> 
> And that's a wrap!! I had SO much fun with this fic--the Killjoys have honestly reignited my love of writing.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! I've loved all the comments I've received so far, so please don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos! :)


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